


Let No One Put Asunder

by sophinisba



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Character of Color, Community: choc_fic, Family, Gen, Magic, Post-Canon, Queer Themes, Siblings, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-02
Updated: 2007-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parvati and Padma attend a wedding. From this prompt: "Reunion after many years apart - Even now, Parvati knows what Padma will say before she says it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let No One Put Asunder

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to slightlytookish and claudia603 for beta and to danachan and rubynye for ideas and encouragement. were_lemur has written a wonderful mini-remix of this fic [here](http://community.livejournal.com/remixthedrabble/98113.html), and benebu has done a French translation [here](http://community.livejournal.com/pompom_power/113546.html).

Even now, Parvati knows what Padma will say before she says it, but she still keeps it to herself rather than interrupt. All through the ceremony they've been silent and attentive. At dinner they make polite conversation with the other guests rather than talk to or over each other.

"It's...different," Padma tells Seamus. "There just hasn't been a lot of work done on this. It's very exciting."

Even through the buzz of four conversations in three languages among the ten people at their table, Parvati can hear Padma holding back. She wants to say more, but there's no way she's going to convince Seamus that still being in school at age twenty-five is actually _exciting_. Parvati feels for her but doesn't support her when the others interrupt.

Parvati's talked a little about her own business – all the work she had this morning, getting Hermione and the bridesmaids ready for the wedding – but mostly she listens. She likes the young man called Dragoş with the wide brown eyes and the unfamiliar accent, but she finds she's more interested in the way he whispers to Charlie in Romanian than in the dragon wrangling stories he tells in English. She can't understand a word of the conversation between Viktor Krum and his date and she doesn't especially care.

But she hears and feels every note of tension between her old classmates attempt to catch up, and even without participating herself she finds it a little exhausting.

"Seven years," says Dean, staring frankly at Padma, and Parvati thinks it's a good thing Luna, sitting beside him, is not the possessive type. "It sure is good to see you again."

"It's really nice to see you too," says Padma. "I was nervous about this, but I'm having a good time. It's a good thing Hermione's just as bossy as ever or I wouldn't be here."

"Is it true she actually went to India to talk to you and convince you to come?" Seamus asks.

"Yeah."

"We missed you at Harry and Ginny's wedding last year," says Neville, and Susan and Luna nod.

"That's what Hermione said too." She blushes. "I'm sorry, I guess I really didn't think anyone would miss me that much."

"Of course we were thinking of you," says Seamus. "Any time we look at Parvati we can't help wondering what's happened to her other half."

Then Seamus' date Marie and Susan start talking about Harry and Ginny's beautiful baby boy, and Parvati squeezes Padma's hand under the table, thinking she's added a fourth language to the mix. Even without words, Padma will understand that she means _We love you for yourself_ and _Seamus is an idiot_ as well as _You selfish bitch, how could you possibly think you weren't hurting me by staying away for so long?_

That's the language of twin sisters, as far as Parvati and Padma are concerned, and it's a silent one. They never much went for that business of finishing each other's sentences. Showing off, drawing attention to themselves. Apart from Hogwarts uniforms, they never dressed alike – they certainly haven't tonight. And if they know each other's every thought, every gesture, every word the other's about to say, well, that's their own business and no one else's. In short, they were never anything like the Weasley twins.

Except that they ended up apart. And it didn't need to be that way, Parvati thinks. It wasn't the Death Eaters who took Padma away from her as they'd taken Fred from George. It was just choices, those kinds of decisions that open up for you when you're an adult and no one's trying to kill you.

Seven years. Padma's lived and studied in Mumbai for as long now as the two of them were at Hogwarts, and almost all that time Parvati's been here alone – the score of boys she's dated and then dropped notwithstanding.

When Dumbledore died in the spring of their sixth year, their parents were so worried that they fetched the girls home early. By the end of seventh year, they didn't consider anywhere in Britain to be safe.

"But the war's over now," Parvati had insisted, repeated, raising her voice in frustration when no one seemed to hear her. "There's nothing to be afraid of anymore!"

But her father remembered the first war with Voldemort, twenty years ago, and her mother remembered being jeered on the street by Muggles and Wizards alike, as far back as when she moved here and as recently as last week.

"Living in this country is always a war," her mother said. "You girls were brave and we're proud of you, but we've had enough. I'm too tired to face any more battles."

At the girls' insistence, they were allowed to stay long enough to attend a dozen funerals before the four of them took each other's hands and took hold of the portkey that spun them back to India.

That was the way they talked about it, Mum and Dad and even, to Parvati's endless frustration, Padma: _back to India_, as if that was where they'd always belonged, as if both sisters hadn't lived all their lives and made all their friends and loves and memories in England.

The last time Parvati was here at the Burrow was a year ago, for Harry and Ginny's wedding. The last time Padma was here was seven years ago, for the worst of those funerals. Younger children had been killed, and so had others from their year, some that they'd known better than they knew Fred. But all through that wake and the burial Parvati and Padma had felt, on top of their own grief, the horrible guilt of having survived. No one said anything unkind, but you couldn't miss the sense that their very presence, their _existence_, together, was an affront.

George had been holding it together somehow until they came up to him, but then he broke down, and they didn't even have a chance to offer their condolences or a hug before he was staggering away on Charlie's arm.

"We shouldn't have come," Padma said.

But Mrs. Weasley said she was glad they'd come. She'd never spoken a word to either of them before, but she hugged them both at once, held them so tight Parvati could barely breathe. "My beautiful, beautiful girls," she'd said, her voice breaking, her face wet with tears but still smiling. "You take care of each other now, don't you ever let each other go."

Parvati hadn't intended to. She'd held on to her sister as long as she could, which turned out to be just about three months, before she realised she couldn't make a life for herself in India, and she couldn't convince her family to come back to England with her.

It wasn't just that she missed her friends. It wasn't the heat or the crowds or the poverty or even the sense of being foreign. They'd been here before, a month or two at a time during summers. Parvati's Marathi wasn't as good as Padma's and neither one of them was really fluent, but they could understand most of what was being said and their relatives were tolerant of their mistakes. They could get around the city with English anyway, though Parvati started to hate the sound of her own accent.

Being a foreigner in magic though, she hadn't thought it would be so important to her, but it was. By the end of seventh year Parvati felt deeply shaken and half broken, but she also knew she was strong, a fighter, an accomplished witch, a member of Dumbledore's Army who'd held her own against the likes of Travers and Dolohov. In her grandmother's house she felt like a child again. She didn't need fame, but she needed confidence, and she lost it the moment she found out she couldn't do a simple cooling charm.

"Put that away," her father said, indicating her wand. "You know magic works differently here. You have a lot to learn."

It was worse than when she first got to Hogwarts. At least then all the other first years had been as confused as she was – more so, if they'd been raised by Muggles. But here Parvati was the problem child. She was useless for mantras. Her pronunciation was fairly good – Sanskrit was no more difficult for her than Latin – but she just couldn't keep her concentration the way Padma or her parents or, for that matter, her twelve-year-old cousin could. She kept moving her hand as she spoke, feeling powerless without a wand to help her direct that power.

Her grandmother's speeches about deeper principles of magic meant nothing to her, and at times she'd end up shouting or sobbing like a little girl with a temper tantrum. Everyone else was patient with her, but Parvati couldn't stand the person she was becoming.

Every time she rode on a flying carpet, she was grateful that she could hold Padma's hand, but that didn't keep her from feeling she was about to fall off.

"I can't take this anymore," she said one day when the two of them were alone. "I'm eighteen years old, I've had a full Wizarding education, and now I'm supposed to learn how to use magic all over again?"

And Padma sounded angry and sad and superior all at once when she said, "Why would you ever want to stop learning?"

Tonight there's nothing nearly so harsh, so direct. They barely say anything to each other, but every time the conversation comes back to what the two of them have chosen to do with their lives, and particularly whenever someone mentions India, Parvati feels tense, and by the end of dinner she's worn out, relieved when Mr. Weasley announces they're going to push the tables back to make more room for the dancing.

"Why aren't they using magic?" Neville asks, watching as Mr. Weasley cheerfully picks up a pair of chairs and directs others helping with the move. "At Harry and Ginny's wedding they had that golden dance floor..."

"It's for Hermione's parents," says Charlie, getting up and starting to move their own table. "She wanted the magic to be subtle so they wouldn't be too overwhelmed."

He nods toward Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who've stayed close to each other – often clutching each other's arms and saying very little – throughout the afternoon and evening. At this point they're paying no attention to the Mr. Weasley's gallant efforts and are instead gaping at the raised platform where two hovering guitars, a cello, and a set of bagpipes have just started tuning themselves up.

"They could have hired musicians," says Dean, "if they wanted to avoid a spectacle."

Charlie smiles. "Well, it's not a celebration if there's not a _little_ magic, at least."

The first dance is just for the bride and groom, and the rest of them stand aside to watch. There's no dance floor as such, just a clear space on the grass. Ron stumbles a little on his way out into the clearing but Hermione just smiles and pulls him forward with confidence. It's a slow waltz and when Ron's facing them Parvati can see him mouthing "_One_ two three, _one_ two three" as he counts the steps. He's got new dress robes and her dress is elegant and perfect. They look beautiful, even with his worried frown.

"You did a great job with her hair," murmurs Padma, standing next to her.

"Thanks." She resists the urge to turn away the compliment, to say something about her job being easy or frivolous. "We do a lot of wedding dos. It was fun to work on a friend but also, um, challenging."

"I'm glad you didn't try to straighten it. She just didn't look like herself when she did that for the Yule Ball."

"Yeah, well, you had other reasons to be annoyed with her that night."

They both smile. Parvati remembers crying over at the way Harry and Ron treated them that night and wonders now, having lived through the Battle of Hogwarts, how she could ever have been so upset over a dance.

Ron's parents and Hermione's join them at the start of the next song, then so do Harry and Ginny, who've left little James with his Uncle Bill and Tante Fleur. Parvati watches more and more couples join in but she hangs back, reminding herself she's glad she broke up with Cliff but still rather hating the fact that she doesn't have a date.

She watches Luna step out on her own and start spinning in slow circles. Her hair hangs loose down her back, her hands trace invisible patterns in the air, and her face is a picture of bliss. Parvati's never been able to do that. She feels a fool dancing by herself.

Dean strides over to Luna and reaches for her hand, but she smiles at him and shakes her head. "Maybe on another song. This one's just for me."

Dean shrugs and turns around, looking surprised to see Parvati and Padma standing so close. "How about you, Padma, care to dance?"

"No, but I think Parvati would."

She says it kindly enough, and Dean doesn't look offended, so Parvati takes his hand and steps out with him. He's a better dancer than Parvati expected, considering it must be hard to learn if Luna's the one he usually goes to parties with. He doesn't know all the steps, but he moves in time with the music and he smells good, and the way he looks at her makes her feel beautiful and vaguely guilty.

"Padma's a lesbian, you know," she tells him. "She's got a girlfriend – a partner."

"Oh, I know. I've got a partner too and I'm not interested in going with anyone else. I just like dancing and I've got, er, an artist's appreciation for beauty, yeah?"

He grins and Parvati laughs. "All right then. Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome. Is her girlfriend as pretty as you two? What's her name again, Minal?"

"Yeah, Minal," she gently corrects him. Accent on the first syllable, just like her own name, which half of their year still doesn't pronounce correctly. "How'd you know?"

"She and Luna write each other letters."

"Oh. Well, so do Padma and I. Um, I actually haven't met Minal."

It hurts to admit it, especially when Dean says, "What, you mean you haven't been to see her in India in all these years either?"

Parvati shakes her head, needs to laugh a little in order to speak. "And you know Padma, she wouldn't talk about how pretty her girlfriend is..."

"Just goes on about how smart, I bet."

"Yeah, brilliant and open-minded and all that." _All those good things I'm not_, she thinks, but fights to stay out of that kind of mood. "They're research partners too."

"The stuff with British and Indian magics?"

"Yeah."

"I'm surprised there's much left to study there. You'd think people would have had plenty of time to figure out how they combine by now."

"You'd think." She hesitates, as this is Padma's lecture to give and not hers, and especially not in the middle of a dance, but she's proud of her sister, so, "From the way she tells it though, it's always been one side or the other trying to prove that their way is better – more powerful, more genuine, more advanced, any of that. There've been a lot of duels between British and Indian wizards, just not a lot of, you know, trying to get stuff done together."

"But that's what they're doing," says Dean. "That's terrific. Your parents must be so proud."

Parvati nods, knowing she really won't be able to speak this time around the tightness in her throat.

"Of both of you," he adds, "her with the magic and you with your salon. It's really great, what you've done." But it's too late. He hasn't met their parents but he's got to know that they're more proud of the Ravenclaw who founded her own research institute than the Gryffindor who runs her own beauty parlour, never mind how successful. Parvati holds Dean closer and leans her head on his shoulder and they don't speak again, and the song ends far too soon.

But it gets easier after that, as the songs get faster, more upbeat. Most of the boys and the older guests go back to their seats but the girls and Neville stay out on the grass, dancing in a loose circle rather than in couples. Teddy Lupin and little Victoire come to join them and everyone's happy to have their energy add to the group. The sun goes down and the moon comes up, and Parvati's feet start to hurt, but she wouldn't dream of leaving.

The enchanted instruments don't come with a voice, but the girls sing along anyway, and Parvati finds she remembers all of the words from the songs that were popular when they were at Hogwarts. Every word's familiar and full of memories and meaning. And Parvati knows it's different for Padma, but for herself the seven years she's been out on her own in the world haven't meant nearly as much as those seven years the two of them spent at that school. She misses that now, the trust they had in each other by the end and the carefree love they had for magic and for each other in the early years, back when Unforgivables still seemed unimaginable and she could cry over being slighted at a dance. Back when the farthest distance ever to come between Parvati and Padma was the passage between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Towers.

When the next slow song starts – another waltz – Parvati's panting and happy, her limbs feel loose and heavy, and she's just decided to sit this one out when she realises that she knows the tune. She and Padma must not be the only ones remembering the Yule Ball, for this is the first tune the Weird Sisters played when they came to Hogwarts. Ron frowns again when Hermione leads Viktor into the clearing, but Parvati laughs and so does Harry, who's suddenly at her side for the first time all day. "What do you say, Parvati, for old times' sake?" He holds out his arms and she moves into them easily. Like Dean, he's not a great dancer, but he's a whole lot better than she expects or remembers. He doesn't handle the turns very well, but his steps are steady and so is his hand at the small of her back, and Parvati feels warm and content and only a little bit dizzy, and she chooses not to say anything.

After a few turns she spots Ginny dancing with Neville, Hagrid with Madame Maxime and, yes, Padma with Ron. Ron is putting more concentration into watching Hermione than into dancing with Padma and it shows, but whereas when they were teenagers Parvati felt this as a great offence, today she can only think it's sweet. Anyway, it's not as if Padma needs Ron's attention to feel beautiful.

"Congratulations," Parvati tells Harry when the song ends.

"What, for getting through a waltz without stepping on your feet?"

"Sure, that too, but I meant... We haven't talked, since your son was born. Congratulations, Harry, I know you'll make a wonderful father."

He beams, thanks her and hugs her and then goes back to the baby as the next song starts. It's even older and slower than the last one, a Celestina Warbeck tune that was already a classic when they were children, one that Parvati's always thought more profound and less sentimental than most of Warbeck's stuff. "Always", it's called, and she doesn't know all the words, but she smiles to see Mrs. Weasley singing in her small voice, with her husband held close. Ginny's mouthing the words too, happily leaning against Hermione. Parvati feels a touch at her shoulder and doesn't need to turn around to know it's her sister's hand.

There's no particular choreography to it, just a slow circling, and she finds that it feels just right, that neither one of them needs to lead. It's the same way with Ginny and Hermione, Arthur and Molly, Charlie and Dragoş, Bill and Fleur, Luna and Cho. Parvati looks around for Ron and sees him sitting with Harry and holding the baby, and that's as it should be too.

"This is what we should have done at that stupid ball," Padma breathes, sounding very tired and happy.

"Mmm, yes, you're a much better dancer than any of those Beauxbatons boys. Or any of the other boys here tonight, for that matter."

"Neville's not so bad."

"Yeah, none of them are as bad as they were when we were fourteen, but we deserve better by now."

"I know _you_ do."

They're silent for a little while, not so much dancing as rocking back and forth. They're still in the centre of everything, out in the open for everyone to look at, but somehow the moment feels private too, like she can say anything to Padma now, and she says, "Why didn't you bring Minal?"

Padma speaks slowly. "I thought I'd be feeling out-of-place already, feeling foreign, Indian, out-of-touch with all of you. And if I brought her along I'd be even more...sensitive, you know?"

"Like you needed to protect her?"

"It sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

"No. It sounds...like you should visit us more often."

"I could say the same to you."

"Yeah, and you'd be right."

Padma's hug tips them out of the simple slow rhythm. "Would you come back to India, Parvati?"

There it is again, _back_. "I can't live there."

Padma nods and Parvati knows she's smiling when she says, "I know that," and they find the rhythm again.

"I'd answered the wedding invitation right away," Parvati says, "said I was coming with Cliff."

"The Muggle boy?"

"Mm hm. Hermione said he and her parents could keep each other company in their confusion. I had to owl her back last week and say we'd split up and I wasn't sure if I'd be bringing a guest after all, and do you know what she said?"

"I think I have a guess."

"That I shouldn't worry about coming alone because that's what you were doing too, and we could be each other's dates."

Padma's laugh makes it clear that she'd guessed right. "Did you notice they had us sitting together at dinner like one more couple?"

"Yeah. Sounds like somebody's been telling tales from the Room of Requirement."

"She probably decided we needed to make up."

"Bossy as ever, just like you said."

They're both laughing as the music ends, and to Parvati's surprise it doesn't start up again. It's the end, and some of the other guests are paying their respects to the hosts and walking off, but Padma and Parvati still stand there, holding each other under the moon and stars.

"I don't want you to leave again," Parvati says.

"What, do you think I'm going home now? Two intercontinental trips in one day? I don't think so."

"Where are you –"

"Your place, I'd thought. Is it far?"

"Not by broom."

Padma frowns. "If carpets weren't banned –"

"I know, I know. Don't worry, we can side-along Apparate once we get outside the wards."

George Weasley is standing just outside the gate when they get there, saying goodbye to other guests as they leave, and Parvati can't help but shout, "Have you been out here all this time? Did they make you do this?"

But George just shrugs and grins. "I don't mind," he says. "There's a nice kind of power trip to it, deciding which wizards are too drunk to fly, or casting hexes to make their broomtales spark if I think they can handle it. Mum can't boss me around if I'm not around to be bossed, and I never was much of a dancer anyway."

"Yes," says Parvati, "but we wanted to see you."

"Well, now you've got your chance."

Parvati hugs George and he hugs her back tight. They see each other often, since they both run Diagon Alley shops. It's gradually gotten easier to talk to him, with enough pleasant memories to balance out the bad ones. But Padma, she realises, hasn't seen him since Fred's funeral.

"Padma," George says fondly, and hugs her in turn. "Your sister's been miserable without you, you know that?"

_My parents and I have been miserable without her_, Parvati expects her to say, but Padma surprises her. "That's going to get better," she says instead. "We're working on it."

"See that you do," says George. He nods at them again and turns to say goodbye to another guest.

Parvati puts her arm around her sister. "Ready?"

When Padma nods, Parvati turns on her heel and thinks of home.


End file.
